


Scenes from the Doctor and the Master's Wedding

by JaneTurenne



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005), Gallifrey (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Crack, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-02
Updated: 2011-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-18 21:22:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/193438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneTurenne/pseuds/JaneTurenne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tardiscrash drew <a href="http://tardiscrash.livejournal.com/5442.html">Five and Ainley!Master's wedding being attacked by Daleks</a>.  Fic was a necessary response.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It is, of course, the event of the intergalactic season. The Doctor always dances at weddings, and everybody wants the chance to dance at his. Old friends, new friends, and friends he hasn’t even met yet—besides which more than one of his other selves, who tend to be even louder and more troublesome than the pets they have in tow—crowd the reception hall to bursting. Many of them may disapprove of the Doctor’s choice of spouse (Nyssa of Traken decides to take up a career in medicine the day after receiving her invitation to the impending nuptials, and nobody blames her), but for most of them, love of the man himself is more than enough to override their questions about his taste. At least three of them assume this is some Machiavellian plot of the Doctor’s to keep the Master in line (these tend to be the friends who arrive with the fellow in the questionable jumper), and Mrs. Josephine Jones tells everyone who will listen, with happy tears in her eyes, that the Doctor’s old adversary has been healed by the power of love and given up his wicked ways for good. But the rest of them simply assume that the Doctor knows what he is doing, more or less, and that nothing _really_ bad can happen to them with so many Doctors in the same place and time.

The Daleks would do well to remember the same.

“I _told_ you letting so many of you show up would be a mistake,” hisses the Master, as he and his new husband take cover behind the cake. “You don’t see an entire battalion of _me_ wandering around, do you?”

“The only reason you didn’t invite yourself, darling, is that you were afraid one of your other selves would drug you, shoot you, or tie you up behind a ficus in an attempt to take your place.”

“Nevertheless, angel, you’ve made our wedding something of an irresistible target for every one of your enemies. Think of the damage that could be done to your timeline with one well-placed bomb...”

“I think we’re safe enough from above. Brax muttered something to me about ‘partition fields’ and ‘best wedding present he could give’ and ‘can’t say more’ and ‘the timelines’ and I let him have his own way. There really isn’t anything in the universe more inherently irksome than a brother who knows the future.”

“I hate to contradict you today, dearest, but I’m inclined to believe that being attacked by Daleks at one’s wedding ranks above clairvoyant siblings in that regard.”

“Ah. Yes. Fair point. We’d best do something about that, wouldn’t you say?”

“What sort of something did you have in mind?”

“Well, I’m sure between the two of us we could rig up some sort of device to...”

The Master doesn’t so much go in for the kiss, nor even so much lunge, as he _pounces_. “Doctor,” he groans, between furious kisses, “oh, my dear Doctor, talk science to me.”

“Master...Master, this really isn’t the time or the...nnnngh....well, if we...programmed in a selective biorhythm...to that TCE of yours...and rigged up some sort of transmitter...and boosted the signal with my sonic...”

“Yes, _yes_ , go on...”

“...We should be able to shrink all the Dalek mutants inside their casings. Stop them dead.”

“Not quite, old chap,” says a voice familiar to both of them, as a dandy in velvet and lace slides in behind the cake beside them. “Not unless you reverse the polarity of... Well, you know the rest. Hallo, Master. Lovely ceremony.”

“And I think you _might_ just have forgotten how fiddly and time-consuming that transmitter could be to build. Good thing for us all I improve with age, isn’t it?” asks another man in velvet, this one unfamiliar, as he slips in on their other side and pulls the transmitter in question from a pocket. “It’s about time you two figured things out,” he adds, smiling beatifically. “Take a good look at this face, Master. In...oh a few years, anyway...you’re going to be waking up next to it.”

The Master stares at the two new arrivals with the precise ravenous expression of a cat in a henhouse. His own Doctor clears his throat and raises an eyebrow.

“Everything in its own good time,” says the Master, hastily.

“And right now, I think it’d be a good time to defeat those Daleks, don’t you?” says another man, this one in a pinstriped suit and very enthusiastic hair, as he bounces in beside them. “Come on, come on, no time to lose! You too, Master. I need you and your TCE.”

The Master’s eyes roll back in his head. “Doctor, you have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear those...”

Four hands grab the Master’s arms, and drag him off to save the universe—or, at least, the wedding. “Oh, my dear Doctors,” he sighs, in a state of absolute bliss, “you may most _definitely_ kiss the groom.”


	2. A Gallifrey Coda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and THEN tardiscrash mentioned that "Romana would come and Narvin would insist he attend for security reasons but not getting an invite he would have to come as her +1." Necessitating still more fic.

"You aren't expecting me to _dance_ , are you?" says Narvin, sourly.

"You act as though _I'm_ the one who dragged _you_ along," snaps Romana. " _You_ insisted on..."

"Is it not lovely?" Leela interrupts them, head on Andred's shoulder, as she watches the Doctor and the Master. "To think that they wasted so many years in fighting with each other. And now, only look at them."

Romana bites her lip, and doesn't look at Narvin. "Yes," she says, distantly.

Narvin swallows hard, and doesn't look at Romana. "Yes," he agrees.

And if for a few minutes afterwards he does something suspiciously like holding her hand, they've got champagne and atmosphere as a pair of very convenient excuses.


End file.
